Author Topic: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread  (Read 2065 times)

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #60 on: September 28, 2020, 04:47:07 PM »
My brother loved Christmas, but I always found it to be kinda strange and spooky. Jesus of Nazareth (who was born in Bethlehem) did supposedly trigger a massacre of babies. And then there was this guy who...
...sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!

When Tim Burton came out with the Nightmare Christmas movie, I remember thinking, "yeah well that makes sense"

 


"Oh, wearisome condition of humanity,
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity,
Created sick, commanded to be sound."
--Fulke Greville

Online Mr.Obvious

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Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #61 on: September 28, 2020, 06:37:42 PM »
Home alone (part 1)


Miles felt the sweat running down his back. The cold morning air almost freezing it to his body. His tracksuit clung to his back and he could smell himself. A good stank. The smell of perseverance and improvement. As he ran through the woods, Rover, his dobermann at his side, he couldn't recall feeling more alive. Underneath his feet, the kept woodland path stretched on. Nature was reclaiming it here and there, but by the time he'd come back to his private abode it would all be neat and propper once more.
Feeling the ground underneath his feet. Smelling the fresh air of the hills around him. With the sound of Rover beside him, Miles knew this was what life was about. He'd needed this. Put it off for far too long. At 6:30 in the morning, things were shaping up to be a perfect day. And not even the lack of sun and the abundance of gray skies could change that.

He didn't even think about work anymore. Aside from perhaps that second-hand fleeting realisation that he wasn't even thinking about the thing he was avoiding. The last few months at the office had been terrible. The pandemic had pulled the emergency break on the train of progress. Stopping many multinationals in their tracks. And while a few flourished, as the invisible hand of economics might predict, others suffered. Miles' business, a train-manufacturing  organisation named Wabtec, wasn't one of those.

Almost overnight the entire transportation business was overhauled; a significant blow to the company. It had been hell for months. Rearanging budgets. Demanding follow-up on cliënts trying to get out of contracts... And the lay-offs. The lay-offs might have been the worst part of it.
It was hard enough to find ways to cut costs on the one hand and make sure that he and his  fellow executives still got a sizeable bonus at the end of the year. But needing to do that in the dark, unseen by the already infuriated public, angry for them firing nearly a tenth of their employees, was most stressful. And he really could do without the added pleas and curses from those most unfortunate souls. They would just have to face reality and be men about. It wasn't like he could change anything about it. In the end, he was no more a cog in the same machine. A better and more valuable cog, yes, surely having proved himself indispensable over the past few months. But he was only following orders, just like all of them. It wasn't his responsibility that they lost their livelyhood. And he didn't need the blame for it.

As the bad memories clouded his mind, unwillingly. He sped up the pace. His dog, unaware of his master's inner turmoil, enjoyed this even more.

All it served was that he ran out of road sooner. He stopped at the bank of the rushing river. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stretched a bit. Rover sat down at his side.

"See that?" He spoke to his pet. "You can see the bridge appearing there." He nodded to where the road turned into a few slabs of stone.

Rover had a puzzled look on his face. The stones quickly disappeared into the rolling water, engulfed by it fully. It didn't worry Miles. This happened sometimes. If it had been particularly stormy for a few nights up in the far off mountains, combined with  slightly warmer weather, the river would overflow. The stone bridge would be swallowed for a few days, making his little clearing in the woods, his secret abode, a small island. The river marked the end of his domain, as it forked and engulfed the small hill, before reconnecting a few miles of to the west of the bridge.

"It's less than yesterday, boy." Miles continued, not waiting for an answer from Rover. "Two days. Maybe three. Then we can go back home."

At the mention of the word 'home', Rover's ears twitched. A familiar look of excitement seemed to crawl over his canine face. It didn't go unnoticed.

"You wanna go home, Rover?" Miles laughed, meaning not the luxury appartement back in Pittsburgh, but the loft-like house in the middle of the clearing of the middle of his private hill. A one-story, modern fusion of glass and metal. Sleek and cool. Spacious. Trendy. Classy. Tasteful. And by God almighty, worth every penny he'd put in the place.

He'd been staying there for two weeks now. After his people had prepared it for him. Cleaned up the road leading from the bridge straight to the house. Stocked the freezer and fridge with quality food and wine; enough to last for months. Cleaned the place. Got the place tip-top in order so all he had to do after his driver rolled up with him, Rover and Moxxy, was sit down, relax and enjoy the well earned R&R.
He had all the comforts he needed. A private generator providing him with heat, electricity, warm water, … Everything except internet and phone-connection. Not here, not in his sanctuary. But he had enough energy to sustain his abode for a few years. And he had Moxxy. It would cost him a bit more for a few more days of her time. But she was worth it.
A few more days didn't seem so bad. No. He was determined to enjoy them.

“Sure. Let's go home Boy.” Miles laughed. He'd fix up the dogs's dinner and then crawl back into bed with Moxxy. They could take a bath together, if she had the will to drag herself from the sheets. She'd been partying pretty hard the pas few days, really digging into his personal stash of coke. But that was alright, he'd come prepared. And he did make her work for it.

With a renewed vigour he ran back down the road, away from the river and made it to the edge of the clearing after just ten minutes. Sweat was pouring down his neck freely now, but he felt his loins afire and the blood was pumping just right. The mist outside was growing steadily but eagerly. Luckily, crossing the open field to the house in the middle didn't require much. The lights inside were burning and through the glass walls, which most of the house's walls were, he could see it clearly.

He passed by his dark Mercedes, just shy thirty feet from the main entrance to the building when he realized he was running alone. Looking back, a little ways off, Rover stood transfixed on something. It peered into the thickening mist, out to the treeline. Perhaps the dogs eyes were much better, or perhaps his keen sense of smell picked up a squirrel or some other woodland critter. Miles didn't know. Nor did he much care. But he was surprised when the dobermann began barking loudly.

Calling his faithful hound to his side didn't help. Miles had to walk over and grab the dog by his collar and drag him back into the house. When they were in, he closed the door behind him. As he moved through the entrance hall and crossed the adjacent living area, he went for the kitchen. Uncharacteristically, Rover didn't wait for his bowl impatiently. Not even when Miles grabbed the full, tender and raw steak and cut it into pieces. Instead, the dog pressed it's nose to one of the window-walls and continued to peer outside, past the 100.000 dollar car and out into the nothing that lay beyond.

Miles didn't pay attention. His mind already pressed on the blonde hooker upstairs. He finished cutting the meat and presented it hastily to his unimpressed dog.

“Be that way.” He laughed to himself as he raced up the open, wide stairs. He undid the upper part of his outfit as he went. And after turning a few corners, he came to one of the only areas protected from sight from the outside. His master bedroom / bathroom / dressing ward. The cool metal plates shielded this area from anyone who could peer inside. This was private property, but he wasn't going to let some creepy lost hunter or camper get a good view of him getting it on with one of the girls he brought here.

He would have dived enthusiastically into the king-sized bed. Where he'd hoped to find Moxxy. As he hadn't heard any soft humming, he'd known she wasn't taking a bath. And because he'd heard no running water, he'd known she wasn't taking a shower. It was therefore quite the shock not finding her between the warm sheets. Indeed, even the sheets were gone. The bare mattress and an over-abundance of pillows were the only thing to greet him.

“Moxxy?” He called out, as a dirty little smile crossed his face. She was teasing him. Hiding. He'd picked the right girl for this trip. “Moxxy?” He called out again, trying to catch her behind a wall. And then another. And then another.

It went on for over half a minute before his tone changed to confusion and a sinking feeling of worry settled in. He looked throughout the house, but couldn't find her anywhere. The car was still outside, so she couldn't have gone anywhere. He even checked the basement, but found no clue as to where she could be.

When at last he opened the door and stepped back outside, he was greeted by an immensely thick mist. Inside Rover instantly began whimpering. He didn't turn back to look but heard the hound scuffling inside, hiding behind a sofa.

“Moxxy?!” He yelled out loudly. And again. And again.

No reply came back.

Stubbornly and still persistantly calling out her name, he moved around the house. Without any reason to, he hoped he'd have more luck at the back. Again, no answer came. With some fear, he peered down the giant hole, recently digged and next summer to house a lavish swimming pool. But there was no Moxxy. There were no sheets. And there was no sign that anyone had tumbled in. No  protrusions in the mud. No blood. Nothing.

He called her name one last time. And still he heard nothing. But as he focused, he could see a blur in the thick of the fog. It was unclear how far off, but a slightly darker shape, seemingly human for as far as he could make it, wandered somewhere in the mist.

Instinctively, he ran for it. He lost track of it, once or twice, but always quickly found it. It wasn't moving towards him. Not towards the light of the house, but towards the trees. He called out after her, but she wouldn't turn. Instead the dark shadow persisted on.

It was then that the dread truly hit. He could hardly see her… If it was her. But she had to able to hear him. Even if something was preventing her from talking, the realization came that she could hear him. Why on earth would she be moving away.
Slowly he walked backwards. Back towards the house, trying to keep his eyes on his surroundings.

He could see the blur again, in the distance. But now it didn't seem to be moving away. If anything, it seemed to be creeping closer. And after a few moments, in which he unconsciously held his breath, he suddenly realized it wasn't the only one. From the corners of his eyes, two mere were flanking him.

He turned heel as fast as he could and sprinted back to the house. It's light almost completely hidden between the thick banks of fog now. But still visible. And with each desperate step, those lights turned more and more into a beacon of hope.
He couldn't hear who was chasing him. There was no sound of footsteps whatsoever. But he dared not look over his should and see how much of the distance they might've breached.

With all his might he dashed the last few yards, and to his pleasure he could not hear any footsteps behind him on the gravel. Still, he slammed the door shut behind him without hesitation. He locked the  double locks on the metal door. He'd be safe inside. The glass walls were bullet-proof and most sturdy altogether. No-one would just be getting in. And he had a gun here. He wasn't defenceless.

As he breathed hard and frantically, leaning against the door, a sound from behind him made him jump. It took him a few moments to realize it was only Rover coming back to greet his master. A worried and sad look on it's face. He knelt by the Dobermann and tried to get his own heartbeat under control.

“It's alright boy.” He lied.

Hugging his hound just as much as for his own comfort as for the whimpering creature's, he looked all about him. He couldn't see the trees anymore. He couldn't see the grass of the clearing. Not the skies above. Not even his car. The thick fog outside was all: a gray void of that held unseen horrors.

And, kneeling there by his cowering dog, as he frantically peered all around him, outside… Miles could feel them looking back at him.

To be concluded (in a few days probably)
"If we have to go down, we go down together!"
- Your mum, requesting 69 last night.

Atheist Mantis does not pray.

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #62 on: September 29, 2020, 01:42:26 PM »

I am right there with Miles, Mr.Obvious.
This happened to be looping...


Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #63 on: September 29, 2020, 07:20:39 PM »
Elves have certainly 'evolved' into higher beings thanks to Tolkien and others when you consider their lowly Germanic origins as causes of various illnesses. They used bows to Elfshot you with a medical condition.


Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #64 on: September 29, 2020, 08:11:12 PM »
I've grown fond of elves.  My wife liked them from the start of our relationship and I enjoyed looking at her books of elves--and Tolkien, too of course.  When I play Skyrim, I almost always play a wood elf because one of their talents is archery.
Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent,
Is he able but not willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able or willing?
Then why call him god?

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #65 on: September 29, 2020, 08:58:22 PM »
I've grown fond of elves.  My wife liked them from the start of our relationship and I enjoyed looking at her books of elves--and Tolkien, too of course.  When I play Skyrim, I almost always play a wood elf because one of their talents is archery.
Sweet. I do enjoy my recurve bow...working on my speed at getting a 2nd arrow on target. Probably a few dozen arrows hiding in the forest surrounding the house, LOL.

Online Hydra009

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #66 on: September 30, 2020, 01:39:18 AM »
I've grown fond of elves.  My wife liked them from the start of our relationship and I enjoyed looking at her books of elves--and Tolkien, too of course.  When I play Skyrim, I almost always play a wood elf because one of their talents is archery.
The Bosmer you meet in the games are generally pretty nice, but their lore is extremely disturbing.  Let's just say that you never want to ask where a Bosmer soldier's rations come from.

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #67 on: September 30, 2020, 09:41:54 AM »
The Bosmer you meet in the games are generally pretty nice, but their lore is extremely disturbing.  Let's just say that you never want to ask where a Bosmer soldier's rations come from.
True.  But I just focus on the archery skill--not the other skills. :))
Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent,
Is he able but not willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able or willing?
Then why call him god?

Online Mr.Obvious

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Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #68 on: September 30, 2020, 06:34:51 PM »
Home alone, part II (of presumably III)


With Rover still whimpering in the background, Miles had turned his focus to the blue modern art painting by the thick wall that separated the living room from his study. In one fell swoop he tore it from it's nail and cast  it aside. The small hidden vault now plainly visible. His fingers shook as he pushed the digits; messing up the order twice before getting it right. His eyes no longer strayed to the mist surrounding his glass abode for fear of what he might see.

When he reached in and pulled out the wooden box, his quivering hands failed to grasp it well. Along with a few shady documents and some old pictures, the small container fell to the ground. The lid broke off and a few of the bullets inside scattered across the ground. He bent down quickly and tried to grab some shells before they rolled too far off. The bulldog revolver now too saw the light of day. It took him several tries before he could fit six rounds into the weapon. Only then did he dare to rise back to his feet and look about him.

There were no dark shapes in the fog. No piercing eyes looking back at him. No taunts or sounds. No growls. No laughter. Nothing. He knew shouting wouldn't do any good. If anyone was standing there, hidden in the banks of mist, they could plainly see him holding the gun. And the walls were thick and isolated enough so that they would not be able to hear his words. Still, because it made him feel better to disrupt the constant stream of emptiness, he did.

“I'm armed!” He shouted. “I'm not afraid to use this!” He continued.

And that much was true, at least. His fear did not stem from the weapon in his hand. Quivering; not only because of the cold sweat on his bare back and neck. He gingerly made his way over to the kitchen and placed the broken box on the counter. It still had about a quarter of the shells in it. It brought him closer to the glass wall. Standing less than five feet from it, he peered beyond the translucent reflection of himself. To his right, he could just about make out the general form of the Mercedes. He wondered if he could make it. Perhaps if he turned on the fog-lights, he could find his way back to the river. The drive over would be mostly straightforward, his chances of crashing were little. And whoever or whatever was out there, probably wouldn't be able to catch up to him. Driving through the river would prove either difficult or impossible, however. The water wasn't as high as it had once been. And perhaps if the current wasn't too bad, the car would manage. But it was a tough call. And in no way, shape or form would the car be able to take him all the way to the nearest town, after going through that.

No. It would be better to wait. Both for this fog to die down and for the river to return to normal in a few days. He could do that. He was safe here. He might not be able to see far out. But this place was pretty much a bunker. And he would see it if anyone did try to get in. They could see him, but if they came close enough, he would be able to see them. Realizing that made him feel a little better. He might be able to be scared and get surprised, but he wouldn't be able to be taken off guard. There would be no sneaking into this place. He could see everything, just as much as he could be seen.

He saw something now. One of the dark shapes, perhaps a little farther away than the car. And at least a few yards to it's left. The figure moved at a walking speed. Miles followed it with his eyes, unaware that his fingers grasped the handle of the gun so much that his fingers turned white. When turning his head no longer cut it, he moved to follow. Step by step, he walked around the open interior of the loft-like building. Never taking his eyes of the unwanted guest. He was already in his study when he lost sight of it.

That's when he heard the rattle at the door. Violent shaking. Intense. Perhaps desperate. Or impatient. He could not tell. He heard and saw Rover bolt up the staircase, off to the master bedroom.

“Go away!” Miles cried out as he moved around the thick wall that housed his safe. He stepped over the discarded painting and held his arm outstretched. The short barrel pointing at the door. The door-handle continued to shake and sputter. Shaking almost as hard as his outstretched hand.

He neared, shouting for it to go away. Knowing full well the outside world was deaf to him, but feeling the need none the less. His heart pumped relentlessy and frantically. Untill it almost seemed to crash-stop when he saw her appear.

The blond woman was distraught beyond description. Her formerly well-kept, shoulder-high hair now unkempt and laced with dirt. She clutched the bloodied and muddied sheet, clinging to her breath-taking voluptuous form, as she finally left the doorhandle alone. Now she focused her attention on the glass wall beside it. Her blood-covered fist smashed into it repeatedly as he could see her cry. Without hearing the words he knew she was begging to be let in. Pleading. When her eyes fell on him, they went from utter fear to a terrified form of frustration. The hopeful desperation shaped her resignated shade of anger into a disserviced wrath. This was not the Moxxy he knew. Not the sweet and sensual girl: always in control. Gone was that cocky smile on her full lips. That knowing glance in her blue eyes. Gone that grace, as she nearly chipped her long nails and smeared blood across the glass in the process, as she tried to be let in.

He moved for the door instinctively. Even with shaking hands, her reappearance given him purpose. He managed to undo the first lock. She was still heaving outside, next to the door, watching him anxiously as his free hand moved for the second lock.

But he hesitated. A brief check-up on her… The smallest of glances… It took him off guard. It was only a hint. And it was only there for a brief second. But it was unmistakeable. She was no longer shaking with fear. No more did she appear terrified. Only  impatient. And in those eyes, for a mere flicker… He saw a hunger unlike any other.

It threw him off. Like some dark reflection into a nightmarish world, he saw the prositute before him, one part of his mind telling him there was no doubt it was her, another screaming madly that she only nearly was. Something was missing. Or added. Or just wrong. Moxxy was Moxxy. And she wasn't.

In moment the haunted surprise, he turned slightly and took a step backwards. He felt the carpet underneath his feet, but he didn't take his eyes off of her. The hairs on his back crawled upright. This was wrong. All of it.

The moment he did. The flicker returned. Unabashed. She cocked her head and closed her eyes slowly, seemingly focussing on some other sense. Her body swayed slightly, as if she'd been out partying, the buzz starting to flow just right and some slow song came on and seduced her to the floor. With the flick of a wrist, the dirtied sheets fell to the ground.

He could see now her beautiful body covered in patches of blood. Some still wet. Some dried. Her naked form before him turned into a horrific mockery of itself. It was still there. Still Moxxy. Still perfect. But not right. Perhaps too ideal in shape now. And so very repulsive, both in its flawlessness as well as because of the caked stains.

And he could see now. As she thwirled slightly, dancing to a tune beyond his hearing: None of the blood… None of it… came from her. There were no gashes or bruises. No wounds at all. Not on her front, nor her back. Not under her arms, as they rose up when she brushed her red fingers through her hair as she bit her lip.

Her eyes opened again as she pressed her the front of her form to the glass. The stains began sticking to the outside of the wall. She seemed to mouth his name as she smiled darkly and drunkly at him. A slight moan seemed to escape her breath as she gently pushed her chest away from the glass. And suggestively her hand trailed from her bellybutton on her flat stomach up to her right nipple. The excess blood on her index- and middle-finger she used it to smear a message on the see-through wall.  Miles watched the letters appear in mirror writing.

“Stop Hiding.” It said.

Miles had absent-mindedly backed up further, all this time. He was crying now. The tears flowing freely as all courage seemed to leave him. Already he was in the middle of the living room, the back of his leg already bumping into the coffee table by the time he finished writing.

Last he saw of her, she pressed her soft lips to the glass, leaving a perfect imprint in a mixture of blood and red lipstick, next to the message.
Her tongue ran of it hungrily, before she returned her gaze to him one last time. Her eyes piercing him; nailing him to the ground where he stood. Without turning and without taking her eyes off him, she walked backwards. And in less than five paces, the mist had engulfed her completely. Leaving him only with the dirtied sheets and her blood-stained imprints.
"If we have to go down, we go down together!"
- Your mum, requesting 69 last night.

Atheist Mantis does not pray.

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #69 on: September 30, 2020, 11:46:52 PM »
This was gold...

The smallest of glances… It took him off guard. It was only a hint. And it was only there for a brief second. But it was unmistakeable. She was no longer shaking with fear. No more did she appear terrified. Only  impatient.

This story is brilliant because in times of true danger the brain is prone to go into super-detail mode. You know what I mean? During the 3 seconds (at the age of 16) when I skidded on a wet road into the back of an unlighted, broke-down truck... I registered the song on the radio, how my brake pedal felt like a sponge, how I was worried about my hot coffee splashing, how the street light was a weird pink glow, and how the windshield shattered on its own just before my left hand with a rope bracelet the went through it. That 3 seconds was like 5 minutes. Ahh...damn. I enjoy the atmosphere more than the events or people.


Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #70 on: October 01, 2020, 09:48:29 AM »
This is scary to me.  Walked the dogs at 5:30 am this morning and noticed a full moon.  Those are always beautiful.  This one was a dark orange and I thought to myself, 'fuck no!!!!!'.  Then I noticed the smell of smoke, the smell like all the neighborhood fireplaces were going; not possible since it will be 99 degrees again today.  By the time I neared the end of our walk, the moon was barely visible because of the deep smoke cover.  Another 2/3 weeks (or more) of visible smoke--this batch from an area about 3 hr drive from us.  Napa Valley--expect a rise in wine prices............................
Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent,
Is he able but not willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able or willing?
Then why call him god?

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #71 on: October 01, 2020, 10:29:36 AM »
This is scary to me.  Walked the dogs at 5:30 am this morning and noticed a full moon.  Those are always beautiful.  This one was a dark orange and I thought to myself, 'fuck no!!!!!'.  Then I noticed the smell of smoke, the smell like all the neighborhood fireplaces were going; not possible since it will be 99 degrees again today.  By the time I neared the end of our walk, the moon was barely visible because of the deep smoke cover.  Another 2/3 weeks (or more) of visible smoke--this batch from an area about 3 hr drive from us.  Napa Valley--expect a rise in wine prices............................
Yeah, we saw a gorgeous "sunrise" once. Except it was only 3:30 AM and headed our way. Fortunately the wind shifted and we could actually fight the fire back using water from the pond and a gasoline powered pump. Not fun when you call the Fire Dept. and no one answers. It was just that one year so far.

Offline Baruch

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #72 on: October 01, 2020, 11:04:33 AM »
This is scary to me.  Walked the dogs at 5:30 am this morning and noticed a full moon.  Those are always beautiful.  This one was a dark orange and I thought to myself, 'fuck no!!!!!'.  Then I noticed the smell of smoke, the smell like all the neighborhood fireplaces were going; not possible since it will be 99 degrees again today.  By the time I neared the end of our walk, the moon was barely visible because of the deep smoke cover.  Another 2/3 weeks (or more) of visible smoke--this batch from an area about 3 hr drive from us.  Napa Valley--expect a rise in wine prices............................

Take care.  Have a bug-out plan and act on it if you need to.
Ha’át’íísh baa naniná?
Azee’ ła’ish nanídį́į́h?
Táadoo ánít’iní.
What are you doing?
Are you taking any medications?
Don't do that.

Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #73 on: October 01, 2020, 09:27:57 PM »
The 1885 poem "Little Orphant Annie" by James Whitcomb Riley was the namesake for the famous comic strip. The poem was a Halloween favorite and tells of bad children who are snatched away by goblins as a result of their misbehavior. Excerpt:

"Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers—
An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbley-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you, ef you don't watch out!"




Re: The Hallowe'en 2020 Scary Thread
« Reply #74 on: October 01, 2020, 09:56:32 PM »
I've grown fond of elves.  My wife liked them from the start of our relationship and I enjoyed looking at her books of elves--and Tolkien, too of course.  When I play Skyrim, I almost always play a wood elf because one of their talents is archery.

Have you ever seen Hawk the Slayer? A good archery movie. That elf is fast!
God Not Found
"There is a sucker born-again every minute." - C. Spellman